


Gezellig

by mjhealy



Category: Jagged Little Pill - Morissette & Ballard/Morissette/Cody
Genre: Drug Addiction, Gen, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjhealy/pseuds/mjhealy
Summary: "We learned that on our tour of Europe this summer."The Healys are in Amsterdam, and MJ is struggling.
Relationships: Mary Jane "MJ" Healy/Steve Healy
Kudos: 6





	Gezellig

**Author's Note:**

> publishing this little one-shot i wrote a few weeks ago because i'm slacking on the baby fic. it even has a cute nick scene in it (no i haven't been kidnapped). 
> 
> tw of course for drug addiction and sexual trauma because, well, it's an mj fic...

MJ doesn’t know what the fuck to do about herself. 

She really has no reason to be as overwhelmed as she is, and yet she can't help but laugh at how naive she'd been two weeks ago when she convinced herself this trip would help. In the midst of her worry, she'd told herself that surely jetting off to Europe would be good for her, take her mind off things, help her relax. Hilarious. She's pretty sure she hasn't breathed since she got to the airport five days ago. Regardless, she thinks she's been doing a serviceable job of keeping it all under wraps. This is their big annual family thing, a fact that is even more notable considering how little time they spend with Steve during the year, and she certainly does not want to ruin the mood for everyone else with her… stuff.

Her stuff. That’s how she thinks of it in her head, how she has to explain it to convince herself it isn’t as terrible as it feels. It has become entirely impossible for her to ignore the fact that she is… not doing well. At first, after her surgery, she'd been able to tell herself that her mind was just still feeling the effects of what she'd been through recently. She was constantly on edge, constantly on the verge of a breakdown, never in control of her emotions. But it was easy to write that off: she’d recently had a very scary experience (her accident had been far more frightening than she’d admitted to her family—they didn’t need to know how terrified she’d been for a second, that there was a brief moment when she’d realized what was happening where she’d thought she was about to die), and then some subsequent nerve-wracking experiences in the hospital to add to her distress. It was normal that she’d still be struggling to calm herself down after feeling that level of fear, that she’d be fragile, that she’d feel like any little thing might shatter her into a million pieces. Right?

(What she didn’t allow herself to think about is what that fear reminded her of, subconsciously, consciously. It was the type of visceral fear she’d experienced exactly three times in her life. Once was when Frankie was six, and MJ had lost her in the mall for half an hour. Once was when she experienced a placental abruption in the middle of the night, a level of pain she was certain was going to kill her and her unborn child. And once was at a college party when she’d gotten very drunk and a “friend” had taken advantage of it and forced her into bed with him. For some reason, that was the incident she couldn’t stop thinking about lately; it used to be a somewhat fuzzy memory, a haze of emotions imprinted in her mind without remembering the details, the things she'd managed to block out. But the first time Steve had kissed her after her accident, she’d suddenly remembered the sensation of his mouth on her, a disgusting feeling that she now couldn’t shake, settling in like dirt on her skin. And then a few weeks after that, Steve had tried to be intimate with her, but as soon as he was on top of her she suddenly could remember all these little details she’d pushed away, making her skin crawl, and she had to tell him actually, her back was still too sore, she couldn’t, and then she’d smiled apologetically as the horrifying memories continued to play violently in her head, until she had to excuse herself to the bathroom to quietly throw up, masked by the sound of the shower, and then she stood under the water until she stopped shaking and crying enough for Steve to think she was fine.) 

Then weeks had passed, and then months, and she began to realize this constant anxious feeling, the strange emotional fragility, the persistent dirtiness on her skin weren’t going anywhere. And even those, she could have managed to keep secret well enough. Feelings are easy to hide, especially with practice. What she could not hide, however, was what was happening to her physically. At first it had just been the shaking, this weird constant shiver that made her hands tremble, and the random crying spells that had her sneaking off to bathroom at random intervals so no one would see her lose it. Once in a while it would escalate into a full-on panic attack. But then those panic attacks became… an issue.

She knew that's what they were, panic attacks. She'd had them when she was in college, after that same awful night that was now haunting her, and her roommate had caught her in the midst of one more than once and told her she should “really see a counselor or something”, but she'd been embarrassed enough as it was and didn't want to go telling even more people that she was struggling to keep herself in control. She’d even had a handful in the early years of her marriage, like when she was pregnant, or an over-exhausted new mom. But she hadn’t had one in over a decade, until suddenly now they were back with a vengeance. She’d developed ways of hiding them from her family as they began to occur with increasing frequency, mostly by locking herself in the bathroom and turning on the shower the second she felt the familiar acceleration of her heart rate, or else going on a walk. But hiding all of this on a two week vacation where her family was with her 24/7 was… worrisome. 

She had even considered trying to find a good excuse to avoid the trip. She didn’t think there was any way she could make it through two weeks in Europe without her family realizing something was going on with her. But despite spending hours awake trying to come up with something, anything, she simply could not think of any acceptable, non-alarming reason to cancel her vacation, so she had gotten on that plane with the rest of them, putting on her best brave face.

The first day in Amsterdam had been fine - everyone was exhausted from the travel, and had all been in agreement about going straight to the hotel to lie around. The second day was, well, livable—walking around the area where they were staying, eating a lot, drinking a little more wine than she should (especially considering she wasn’t supposed to have any at all while on her meds), getting through the day. She’d ended up relatively drunk, which she regretted, but she was pretty confident she’d managed to hide it from Steve and the kids, so it was fine. But it had all gotten steadily worse day by day from there, and today was their fifth day. She was no longer doing “fine.”

The kids had really wanted to go on a bike tour, and as much as Steve had joked that “mom and I aren’t as young as we used to be, you know,” he seemed game too. He’d pulled her aside a little more quietly, however, to check in before they left. “Are you sure your back can take it? You really don’t have to-“

She’d bristled defensively, though she didn’t know why—he was right. But something about the accusation that she couldn’t handle it was strangely hurtful, so she’d said “I’m totally fine, I’m coming.” And she went, and she smiled as the day wore on and her back began to ache tremendously, powering through until the end of the day. Thankfully, she had painkillers in her handy travel knapsack. She’d brought enough for exactly one pill each morning, plus two extras for the duration of the trip in case she had a really bad pain day. (This was not something she discussed with her doctor—the extra pills on “bad days.” She kept that to herself, even though recently her pill regime has been closer to two on a good day, three on a bad day, sometimes four, but that's besides the point). Today is certainly one of those days, so she pops one as they return their bikes to the rental place and head to dinner, and then realizes that, combined with the extra pill she’d taken on the flight, she’s already used her two extras. On day 5. Fuck.

Dinner is at a nice pizza place, where Nick is eager to try ordering in Dutch based on what he’d picked up from Duolingo, but the waitress switches to English after two words, amusing Frankie and Steve greatly. MJ smiles and laughs along. She picks at garlic bread as Nick and Frankie discuss a teacher who’d recently been fired for sleeping with a student, forcing herself not to drink too much wine, having promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk again. 

“Megan was telling everyone in my grade she was sleeping with him, though. Like, she was so proud of it,” Nick says, swallowing a mouthful of pizza.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s still rape,” Frankie rebuts, a little heated.

“Why?”

“Because he’s in a position of power over her. Just because he didn’t tie her down and force-“

“Can we change the subject?” MJ interrupts, her voice harsh, more condescending than she intends. “This isn’t my idea of a nice dinner conversation.”

Frankie looks at her, her eyes narrowing. “But you agree, right?”

MJ sighs. “It’s a gross abuse of power and I hope they both get the help they need.” Frankie’s eyes narrow further.

“What do you me-“

“No, I don’t care to discuss this anymore. Let’s talk about what we’re going to do tomorrow. Steve?”

He looks at her, clearly annoyed at her for “picking a fight,” as he so often is. She stares back, challenging him with her eyes, before he begins explaining the travel plans for tomorrow. MJ downs the rest of her glass of wine, before beginning to scarf down pizza a little more quickly then she intends, needing to feel something in her stomach other than rising anxiety. She’s finished the garlic bread too, but no one seems to notice. At least maybe it’ll lessen the effects of the alcohol. She’s fixated on the thought of her pills, and the fact that she’s already used her two extras. What if she needs more? How will she get them? And why is the thought of only having access to one per day making her feel like she might pass out? The waitress brings them another basket of bread, and she knows she's overeating and she's going to be mad at herself later, but she can't stop.

Finally, they wrap up the meal, and the kids want to walk back to the hotel. Steve looks at MJ, speaking quietly. “How’s your back?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She’s not lying—the Oxy is doing its job. They head off, sun setting over them, walking through brick-paved roads. Frankie and Nick walk ahead, having another enthusiastic discussion about God knows what. She walks beside Steve, keenly aware that he is trying to close the foot of distance between them that she is fighting to maintain.

She sees it happening out of the corner of her eye, Steve reaching his arm sideways to wrap it around her, the way they always used to walk together as they watched their children run ahead. But she feels his arm on the small of her back, his hand on her side, and she shudders internally, hating the feeling of a hand on her body. She brushes his arm off, pushing it downward, and he withdraws it willingly but looks at her: a little hurt, a little questioning. She keeps her eyes pointed ahead, knowing the pain in his eyes will be just too much to bear. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get that she’s not just protecting herself, but she's protecting him from her. He isn’t seeing how dirty she is, but if she lets him touch her he might realize, might see the truth, and he deserves better than that, than her, so really it’s in his best interest for him to keep him a foot away. 

They separate into their rooms when they get back, MJ and Steve heading off to theirs. She drops her bag to the floor, hearing the familiar rattle of the pill bottle—oh right. She still hasn’t dealt with that… situation. The nerves in her stomach are becoming more pronounced, and she realizes her hands are starting to shake. She wiggles her fingers, trying to get them to still. And then without allowing herself to think about it too much, she reaches into her bag and quickly twists the cap off the bottle, hurriedly shoving one more pill into her mouth, dry-swallowing.

“Are you upset with me?” Steve asks, pulling her out of her thoughts. She doesn’t look at him.

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you being so… cold?”

She breathes in, trying not to get worked up. “I’m really over-exhausted, that’s all.”

“Okay.” She glances at him, and he looks unconvinced, or maybe just concerned. God, why is this hotel room so small? She wants to change out of her sweaty clothes, but she absolutely does not want to take her clothes off in front of him, especially after eating so much at dinner—he’ll be disgusted if he sees her naked right now. Is it too suspicious to change in the bathroom? Probably. Maybe if she pairs it with a shower-

“Come lie with me,” Steve calls. She turns to him, sighing.

“Steve, I’m all sweaty and disgusting-“

He grins playfully, and she can tell he’s trying to turn the mood around. “I like you all sweaty,” he murmurs, and she feels her heart rate accelerate as the words reverberate in her mind. This thought has been present in the back of her mind the entire time, knowing exactly what vacation and hotels and fancy European excursions mean. She knew he’d want to have sex with her sooner or later. But that doesn’t make the thought any less unsettling now that she's in that moment.

She folds her arms over her chest. “I literally just said I was exhausted. You really think I’m going to be in the mood right now?”

He blinks at her. “MJ, come on, you know I was kidding. I’m not asking for anything. Just wanted to cuddle a little bit.” His eyes gleam with hurt. “With my wife.” He adds the last words on to guilt her out, she knows. As if she needs it.

Her heart is beating unimaginably fast, and she’s starting to find it difficult to control her breathing. Steve pulls out his phone, clearly giving up on the thought of spending time with her, and she knows she’s starting to panic and she doesn’t know what to do. The bathroom is so small in this hotel room, not ideal considering she’s a bit claustrophobic, and she just needs to be away from Steve, can’t be in the same tiny hotel room as him. 

“I’m going to go on a little walk,” she says quietly, shoving her phone and wallet into a purse. She doesn’t look too closely at him, but a quick glance shows him still looking hurt as hell, so she averts her eyes again immediately. She’s really such a bitch, she thinks to herself, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She needs to get out of here now before she completely loses it in front of him, so she mutters a quick goodbye and heads out the door, hitting the elevator button with her hand. 

She’s already starting to hyperventilate when the doors shut, and she leans against the wall, pressing her hand against her chest as she struggles to take in a breath. The motion of the elevator is not helping with her dizziness, and she feels like the walls are shifting around her. She grips the bar on the wall with all her might, trying to keep from falling. Breathe, she thinks to herself, but she can’t, and then the doors slide open and she practically stumbles out. 

She gets herself outside into the night, hoping the fresh air will make a difference. It doesn’t. She begins to walk briskly, trying to get as far away from… here as she can. She’s not quite sure what she’s fleeing from, just that she is, walking quickly down streets she doesn’t know as if she can keep the world from crumbling around her if she just keeps moving. A few blocks from the hotel she stops, bending over and placing her hands on her knees, holding herself up. The lack of oxygen is making her lightheaded, and she stays bent over to keep herself from fainting. 

She hears a woman’s voice say something to her in Dutch, and she snaps back into reality. A younger woman, maybe in her early twenties, is staring at her worriedly, and when MJ doesn’t respond she asks again in English: “Are you okay?”

MJ takes a deep breath, the shock of being spoken to slapping some sense into her. She nods, not able to speak yet, still breathing heavily. 

“Are you sure?” The woman asks again, clearly wary of this American lady saying she’s fine as she stands trembling in the middle of the street. 

“Yes, I’m fine, sorry,” she says out loud, voice a little hoarse. The woman gives her a smile and heads off, and MJ takes another few deep breaths, regaining her sanity.

She feels her phone buzz in her purse, and she fishes for it. A text from Nick. “Frankie and I want ice cream. Can I go grab us some?” Her phone shakes in her hands as she reads, and it’s difficult to type her response, making her all the more grateful she can be a mom over text for 3 seconds instead of in person. It's so much easier to pretend you're fine over text.

“Sure,” she answers.

“You guys want anything?” She almost smiles.

“No thanks.” She doesn’t feel like having to explain that she’s not currently with Steve. She slides her phone back into her purse.

There’s a certain hum in the air, the bustle of activity and buzzing of lights that you hear in a city at night, so unlike the deafening silence of Greenport. She takes stock of her surroundings. It’s beautiful, and yet that only serves to heighten the isolation she’s aware of. She’s in Europe, she’s on vacation, and she’s standing alone in the street blocks away from her family because she can barely stand to be in the same room as her husband. This is how she lives now, from panic attack to panic attack, pill to pill.

The pills. That’s another thing she has to deal with. There’s no way she’s going to make it through these days without acquiring some more, and the thought of not having them makes her unsettled and disturbed. She needs them. She’s going to have to figure out how to get her hands on more. Isn’t Amsterdam known for drugs? 

She chastises herself immediately for the thought. She’s not going to buy pills off the street like a drug addict. She’ll call her doctor in the morning, tell her she’s in Europe and she forgot her pills at home, get a prescription sent to her here. That’ll work. Surely Dr. Chowdhury will understand that she needs her pain medication to be able to enjoy this time with her family. She can leave out the part about extra pills for extra bad days. She’ll just say she didn’t bring any.

It sits a little strangely in her chest, the fact that she knows she should lie. But that’s the nature of opioids, right? They’re so careful with them, too easy to take advantage of, misuse. That’s not her. She just needs them to manage the pain. Like today. There’s nothing wrong with that.

So she’s not sure why tears are stinging at the corners of her eyes, and she wipes them away furiously. If only she’d shoved some Kleenex in her purse as she hurried out. She begins to cry in earnest, glad that the worried young woman has moved along as she sobs quietly in the street. It’s embarrassing, but she has no where to go. She can’t cry in her hotel room, and the lobby would be even more conspicuous, so she continues to stand on the sidewalk, wiping the tears that won’t stop coming. When did this become her world? 

Finally, she pulls herself together, taking gasping breaths as she manages to stop the flow of tears. She should go take a shower. She’s not in a good state, and normally a shower manages to get her feeling a little better. She’ll just stop at the bathroom in the lobby to clean herself up. She’s become an expert in fixing her face after a cry: if she holds a cool cloth over her eyes for long enough, she can usually get the redness almost gone. She can do that, and by the time she gets back to the room Steve won’t be able to tell.

She’s just about to turn in towards the front door of the hotel when she realizes Nick is approaching, holding two cups of gelato in his hands. Shit. Has he seen her? She might still be able to duck inside without him noticing.

“Mom?” He calls. Well, fuck. He’s only a few feet away now, and she gives him a little wave.

“Hi hon!” He meets her, and she wonders if it’s light enough for him to see her face, to know. Even without that, it’s a little suspicious that she’s out here, alone.

“What are you doing?” He questions. She smiles, trying to keep him in the dark.

“I just went on a little walk. It’s so nice out.” 

Nick nods. “It is.” He starts heading inside, and she follows behind, thinking of ways she can separate from him before they hit the bright light of the lobby. But they’ve barely just stepped inside when he turns and looks at her, and she knows instantly he can tell. He’s so observant, her Nick. Even more than his father. Nick always gives her a little squeeze when she needs it, a little comforting look when the tensions start to rise around the house. It’s sweet, and also a little upsetting: how does he always know she’s off?

“Are you okay?” He asks, quietly, comfortingly. She nods vigorously. 

“I’m totally fine.” She can see in his face he doesn’t believe her for a second, and she can’t blame him considering she’s 100% sure she’s visibly been crying. She wonders if he’ll let it go.

“Did something happen with dad?” The elevator doors open, but Nick stays put, stopping them from heading back up right away. MJ gives Nick a reassuring smile. 

“No, everything’s fine, don’t worry.” He’s staring at her, and he realizes how empty her words sound when paired with how upset she clearly is. She can’t just lie this away. “I just get a little overwhelmed sometimes, need a breather. It’s just a lot sometimes, you know.” She’s trying to keep it light, and it’s not untrue. She is desperately overwhelmed, and even she isn’t quite sure why. It is just a lot.

Nick nods understandingly. He’s keenly aware that his mom is human. Frankie doesn’t seem to have learned that yet—he’s not sure he had either at 16. But lately he can see that his mother is struggling. He’s not sure if it’s new, or if he just hadn’t noticed it before, but either way he worries a lot. She seems… fragile. 

“Do you want to stay outside a bit longer? We can go for a walk. You can have Frankie’s gelato.” He holds it out to her, offering, and she laughs a little. 

“I’m okay. Thanks honey.” She presses the button to the elevator once again, and it opens almost immediately. They step inside, and as they stand, Nick leans his head against his mother’s. He’s so much taller than her, now, a concept that is constantly difficult for both of them to grasp. In her mind, she still pictures him much smaller, her little boy. To him, however, it’s hard for him not to notice how small she is now. She used to seem invincible to him, unshakeable, but she doesn’t anymore. He places an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her, and she closes her eyes against it. 

She relaxes into the sensation, his arm around her, protective. Normally it makes her feel pathetic when her son tries to comfort her, take care of her—that’s her job—but she needs it so badly right now that she just accepts it, enjoying the safe feeling of being held by her little boy who is now a man. As they reach their floor, preparing to part ways, he turns to give her a full hug, embracing her, squeezing her.

“You’re the best, mom,” he whispers, and she forces herself not to tear up again.

“Thanks, Nick. Go enjoy your gelato.”

She takes a deep breath in his embrace before he pulls back. “Goodnight, mom.”

“Goodnight my love.”

She watches him as he heads back into his room. He really is so big now. Or maybe she’s just small. Either way.

Steve is in bed when she steps in, watching TV. She goes to grab some clothes before stepping into the shower.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and it occurs to her she’s been gone quite a while. He’s used to her disappearing, at this point, but still, she may have worried him a little. 

She nods, smiling. “I’m fine.” For this moment, at least, it’s the truth.


End file.
